The Words
by DaMick
Summary: Gentle reminisces of two characters in a graveyard spawn a different future for the blond Slayer but old pains come back to haunt.
1. The words

As usual, I own nothing.

The words. There are no words that convey exactly what we mean to say. No wrote phrases can truly show an individual perception of reality. The words. Words are meaningless. How many whispered 'I love you's have poisoned the minds of lovers in heat only to be turned aside or forgotten as sunlight pokes its nose bringing the unholy tryst reluctantly into reality. Words you can't take back, but you can. Words belie and belittle something profound and buildup and pronounce falsehood into belief. Actions speak so much louder. The action of shifting the gear on the motorcycle as it rounds the corner shows control and competence and above all things, purpose.

The bike pulls to a stop and the leather clad individual drops the zipper down their front letting the cooler breeze penetrate against the harsh light of day. Pale skin belies the graceful handling of the metal monster now being left behind at the curb with a worn down old blue ford it's only companion in the otherwise deserted lot. The traveler is still used to doing so by moonlight and ventures now into the sun do so something they'd meant to do for so long now.

"Hello, hero. Wait, this is wrong." The leather clad hand is held up palm out and a few breaths mark the time of reorganized thoughts. The jacket is stripped and tossed aside with gloves and helmet quickly joining it and it is a warrior divulged of armor now standing, waiting, for approval. The words start again and the feeling of presentation is gone. Two old friends, old lovers, there to reconnect if only temporarily.

"I never got the chance to tell you before how much I needed you. Now, I'm not here to promise myself that something miraculous will happen or that I could ever be truly worthy of you, but I just need to say these words that echo through the empty hotel room during the day because if I don't then I'm not sure they'll ever be said. Oh I wish I could have been there. I wish someone would have told me, but that's no excuse. I let everyone believe something that wasn't, something that kept people I love out of my life, and because of that I lost you. I know, you were never really mine, I know that. I could never think to keep hold of something like you. But the choice was made and my life went on without you in it, without anyone in it. It was all a big distraction, I guess. Wrapping myself up in the world of doing good and redemption and feeling and it was all to keep my mind off of you, especially when I thought you were out of my grasp. You had something better." The tears run unabashed down to the edge of the weary dust covered chin and drop onto the grass a second before the jean cushioned knees buckle and collapse. The sobbing starts and the sound of the breeze in the trees is the only accompaniment for the lone individual kneeling next to the tombstone.

"Every night I save you. Every night you save me. From myself. From what I could have been without you in my life. Every night I find you again and every night it's like getting the call all over again. Every night I love you." Fingers applied to eyes attempt to blot away the tears and restore some semblance of peace to tired features. Fingers tentatively reach out for the touch of cool stone and trace the letters meant to symbolize the true hero interned here. Hours pass and with the encroaching night a sense of calm washes over the emotionally spent body. As the imagined touch of soft lips to the forehead picks the head up, eyes scan the change in surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. The cemetery is empty of both threats and onlookers so after a minute of re-donning leather the boots make their way back across the manicured lawn and one gets thrown over the seat to rest on the kick start lever.

"Good bye, my love. I hope you don't think less of me." The bike roars to life and the back tire peels out as she squeals around the corner back onto the road that will take her to the interstate and, eventually, arms of comfort whose invitation she still feels somewhat guilty for accepting. Beneath the tree a match flares to life and touches briefly to the tip of a cigarette. The face watching her retreat back to her dark angel is without regret or remorse and could only be called wistful. The breeze picks up and eyes flick to dancing smoke blown aside as just that much dust on the wind but the plastered down short blond locks remain unfazed as spike's face widens in a slow and calculating smile.

"Good bye, Buffy." The words mean nothing; it's the action that's important.

The end.

Maybe.

A/N: Please review, I've got some follow up ideas but I can't be sure of posting them if there won't be a response. Thanks for the time.


	2. Actions speak louder than words

I know I said that this probably would not be continued but my muse and I seem to have disagreed about that. For now it will be continued as it is but I'm more than willing to take any input from any source at this point. Hope you enjoy.

Actions speak louder than words.

The action of the bike coming to a sudden stop and the rider sitting still for a long moment speaks much louder of the traveler's reluctance to face the person they've come so far here to see than any written word ever truly could. Finally the petite form in leather levers herself over the seat and takes her time with shedding helmet and gloves, tucking one inside the other, before taking another second to contemplate leaving them here with the bike. She'd been told that this place would welcome her, that he'd see to that if she cared to come, but old habits died hard. Idly she ran the fingers of her right hand, her helmet tucked under her left arm, through her hair and wished it wouldn't always stand up like that after she freed it from being restrained for miles at a time. She stopped before the elevator in the underground parking garage and tried finger combing her hair again with the near-mirror like reflection from the elevator door. With a soft bing and a deep breath the doors whispered open and she crossed their still moving threshold. The button she wanted was near the top and she had to fight the urge to pace within her small confines during the long trip. Surprisingly no-one else requested a stop along the way which left her in solitude except for her thoughts.

Would he still want her? Would he still want them to be together? Would he cry with her over Spike or have that snide smile in full effect when he spoke his name? Was this the right thing to do? Was this the right place to be? Was this selfish of her; trying to find comfort now after thinking he'd been gone over a year already? Would he still want her? What if it didn't feel right after she got off the elevator? Could she just go back down to her bike like nothing had happened? What if he didn't really want her and was only being polite? She wanted to bash her forehead against the gleaming steel of the elevator. Bad brain; off now.

The feeling of motion slowed and then stopped and the doors parted slowly before her. The lobby was large and cleanly if not ostensibly decorated. The lush carpet, glass panels of offices, and actual living plants spoke of comfort and style if not massive amounts of money. She took two steps into it and stopped, looking around again. Spider sense, that's what Xander called it. Her eyes rested on the back of a blond who couldn't be much taller than she was. Unconsciously her boots distributed the weight across the balls of her feet as she bent her knees slightly and prepared to tug the stake out of the hem of her jacket. The blond target turned around as she continued in the action of filing miscellaneous records and never looked up at her old high school... fellow student.

"Harmony?" Buffy whispered the blond's name but the secretary was oblivious to the new arrival as she continued through the ten minutes an hour of actual work she did. Buffy resisted the urge to fight and forced her body to relax; if Harmony was working for Angel now then she knew it wouldn't be the best idea for her to stake his secretary. Sorry, personal assistant. Buffy unzipped her jacket and let the sound do the speaking for her as Harmony finally looked up from the papers spread across the counter.

"Oh my God; Buffy! It is like so great to see you. Wow, you look a lot different."

"And you look... exactly the same."

"Thanks. You must be here to see Angel right? Well, I think he's busy brooding but I'll go check, K?" Before Buffy could answer yay or nay, the blond was gone and she was left with the feeling something else needed to be said between them. The last time she had seen Harmony had been in Spike's underground room. Or had it been after that? She realized that the mutual connection with Spike was all that linked the two anymore and wondered what that meant? Did it mean anything? Did it have to; because her head was still hurting with everything else she'd had to think of on the way over? The accent was what made her turn more than it forming her name or stirring echoes of the past.

"Wesley? What are you doing here?" True to British fashion he didn't really answer the question and instead moved to wrap her in a hug.

"Buffy it's been so long. I'm so glad you're still alive. Giles must be so proud."

"Uh Wesley? I guess you didn't get the memo, but the world is kinda chock full of Slayers now. Giles pretty much has his hands full. What about you? Didn't I hear you were dead?"

"Due to some ancient magic and a few tears I was resurrected soon after the battle."

"Resurrected. Seems to be a lot of that going around these days."

"I'm sorry no-one told you. Personally, however, I believe he made the right choice in keeping his distance from you. At the time there was a lot of... lets just say things were difficult enough as they were."

"Uh huh." Contrary to popular belief, she actually did know when to bite her tongue when there was absolutely no way this conversation could end well for either of them if it continued. She was almost grateful for Harmony coming back around the corner despite her arrival meant there was no backing out now.

"He wasn't brooding; he was dealing with some weird looking guys but he said he's wrapping up so he'll be out soon." Buffy turned back to Wesley with a look that said she was glad to see him but the conversation was over.

"Good seeing you, Wesley, but Harmony and I have some catching up to do."

"Yes. Well. I'm sure I'll see you around, Buffy." As he walked away, Buffy turned back to Harmony's upraised face.

"We do?" Luckily the door to what she guessed was Angel's office took that opportunity to open and two cloaked demons with gray faces made their shuffling way out, hands tucked firmly inside, and without a backward glance moved past her toward the elevator. Her eyes followed them even as she kept herself from taking a cautionary step back and it wasn't until she turned back around that she saw him framed in the doorway. The words left her mind.

"Buffy." Her name. The way he said her name, like it was his world. Was that what she missed the most about him? Her feet were standing still. Why were they doing a stupid thing like that when she was already here and he was only feet from her? Finally one of them stepped out and hit the floor with a soft thunk before the other copied its mate. He held the door open for her and she moved softly past him, feeling his presence even through her thick jacket and letting it make her shiver.

"I'm glad you came." The door closed behind him and he took a step before stopping and tucking his hands into his pockets. Why did this feel so weird? Because she had slept with Spike? No, she was still Buffy. Nothing she could do could change that; could change what she meant to him.

"Me too."

"So what happened to you not being big with the driving?" At last, a safe subject. She seemed to think so too, as she set the helmet carefully on the edge of his desk and moved to shed the zippered jacket. He took it from her and threw it behind him where it caught on the coat tree. Her eyes followed its motion before meeting his gaze and she let one upraised eyebrow ask the question for her.

"Too many movies. Now C'mon, what about the not driving? Something to drink?" She eased into the chair with its back closer to the wall and crossed her legs right over left as she leaned against its arm.

"Well, it actually turns out that riding is a lot more like holding your balance than driving, which is something I'm really good at by the way."

"Driving?"

"Balancing. I rode a few times with Spike when he was... so when we got to England and the whole not driving thing combined with the everyone's on the wrong side of the road thing, I decided that with the bike if all else failed I could always drive on the sidewalk. I started with a moped, actually, thinking small, easy to handle, and not too much speed could be a good thing. I guess it was just too small, easy to handle, and slow."

"And that's when you bought a hog?"

"Actually it's called a crotch rocket, but yes. Gave the moped to Dawn and took off cross country to give it a test drive. Turns out cross country England style is a lot shorter than cross country American style."

"Makes sense, England's smaller."

"Yeah but that wasn't quite it. In America anywhere you go you're likely to find someone that speaks the same language you do. In Europe, even in England, I felt like I was the one speaking a foreign language most of the time."

"Uh, Buffy?"

"I know, Angel; I was kidding. So what about you, mister lawyer man extravaganza? Which road exactly brought you to the swanky office and killer desk?"

"The scenic route. Things have changed so much, even since last year. Buffy, I never thought I was going to see you again."

"But I'm here. So we're both with the happy, right?" Silence breeds consent. "Then why aren't we more... happy?"

"I'm very happy to see you, Buffy. It's just... the last time we talked you told me Spike was your champion."

"I didn't want you to get hurt for me again. Besides I was still..."

"Cookie dough; I know. But then I get a package in the mail and it's the amulet and Spike. And what was the first thing he did? Well, I'm not exactly sure actually. But I know the first thing I would have done."

"Call me?" Her voice is softer, more fragile, than he remembered it could sound and he sucks in the remainder of his less than flattering words about Spike. She was here because he was dead. That was it. She didn't want him, didn't want to be with him, or she'd have been here already.

"Yes."

"But you said he was a ghost, right? How was he supposed to dial the number he didn't have? Never mind; I'm not going to defend him." Her eyes catch on the mug Angel lifts to his lips full of blood but her mind sees different words; words from a different mug from a different place so long ago. Her feeding Spike with a mug that said 'kiss the cook'. Spike, as one of his first acts after being allowed to go free, taking a red permanent marker and replacing both S's with L's. A tear finds its way to the corner of her eye as she remembers how pointless and spikeish it had seemed then but how cute and funny it was now.

"Buffy I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"I know. It's fine." Maybe if she doesn't blink the tear won't fall. Maybe it'll just go away somehow. Maybe he won't notice. The handkerchief held out from across the desk tells her it's too late to worry about that. That's right, super nose; he probably smelled the salt.

"I'm still glad you came. For a long time I didn't think you would."

"I had a few things to take care of, some stops on the way." Didn't he want her? Where was the sexual tension that would normally be just about to break into a rolling boil at this point? Why wasn't she in his arms telling herself not to kiss him a second before she actually would? Why wasn't he whispering soothing thoughts into her hair and promising her that everything was going to be alright?

"Is Dawn...?"

"She's staying with Giles so she can go to school. Willow's there too. And Xander." He needed more help than any of them right now, she wanted to say, but Angel and Xander had never really been close enough for her to think he'd care. His thoughts were along a different path. With all those people there for her back 'home', why was she here? Because as always they were too involved in taking care of everything else for them to notice she needed anything. Just like they always had, he reflected. Maybe Spike wasn't right to do what he did. He realizes that they've both fallen silent and that she looks even more tiny when she's sunk down in the chair like she has. Her green eyes are locked on his face and he wonders just how much of his troubled hope and desperation she sees there.

"Angel, why are we doing this?" Apparently not enough.

"Doing what?"

"This. We're sitting and talking about everything else but what brought me here."

"I guess I was trying to find some easier way to lead into it all."

"Well there isn't one. Spike's dead. Again. And you never told me." He leaned back in his chair and pushed the mug further to the side with one hand. Well, as long as they were being honest.

"I never told you a lot of things. I didn't call and tell you when he gave up his chance at being corporeal so we could stop the ghost of a vicious killer. I didn't write when we found out more about the prophesy that said one of us would become human after averting the apocalypse. I didn't email the battle plan for said apocalypse to you and Giles. And I didn't do any of it for a very specific reason. I didn't want you to get hurt."

"I am not a little girl any more, Angel. You do not get the right to protect me from things I've been crying about for over a year."

"I wasn't trying to protect you."

"But you just said."

"I said I didn't want you to get hurt. Protecting you would have been sending Spike on the next speeding plane-"

"Planes don't speed."

"-to wherever you were that week with the hope that you might choose him instead of the Immortal." There, it was out there in front of them now. If Buffy's pale skin could have gotten paler, it did. She realized she was about to break a bone in her hand if she didn't relax her clasped grip and forced herself to do so.

"You knew about him." It wasn't a question anymore. Was that why he didn't want her? It couldn't be. She hadn't _done_ anything with him.

"We knew." 'we'?

"Spike too? Oh my God. No wonder he didn't call. He said you guys hated him."

"We have... history. But I stayed out of it, Buffy. I didn't try to protect you and I didn't try to warn you."

"Yeah, well, I almost wish you had." For a second he wasn't sure of what he had heard.

"I'm sorry?"

"Let's say that he wasn't all he was cracked up to be. He's a whore, did you know that? Sucks energy from his partners slash victims. That's how he's stayed alive for so long."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. We never... I mean, we weren't... like that."

"Oh." If there was something else for him to say it couldn't get around the massive roadblock that was this new revelation.

"We danced and partied but I wasn't ready and he kept going home with other women. And me? I'd go home to Andrew. Please do not get me started on how unfair that deal was. Besides, he told me once that when we danced I was like a bonfire I was radiating so much heat and I never noticed if he took any or not so we left it alone."

"Oh." Was he repeating himself? He must be from the way she was looking at him and he closed his eyes to try and keep her out of his soul.

"You really thought that we were..."

"Andrew kind of hinted at something to the effect, yes."

"That little weasel. It's not bad enough he leaves dirty towels all over the bathroom floor, he's gotta tell both of my exes that I'm shagging their immortal nemesis?"

"I wouldn't exactly call us his nemesis-is."

"You have problems with that too?"

"Not really my strong point." They lapse into silence again and she's starting to wonder if this is such a great idea after all. All they've done since she got here was talk about her exes and her loves and her family. When were they going to talk about her? When was he going to wrap her in his arms and tell her it was going to be alright? Maybe she should have faxed him an itinerary before she'd left London. Four o'clock, brood. Four thirty, greet Buffy with nice words and fruit/chocolate. Five o'clock begin the physical consolation. Maybe she should just leave; this wasn't working out.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" It was the simple assuming way he said it, like he knew her answer before she knew the question that made her nod her head mutely and follow him closely to the door leaving jacket and helmet behind. Their feet carried them silently across to the elevator and neither of them acknowledged if there was another person in the lobby. The elevator moved just a few floors before stopping and asking for authorization. Angel spoke a single word in a language she didn't recognize and the elevator moved another half floor or so down before opening its doors. They stepped together into sunlight filtering down through trees from above. Birds called to each other and a multi branched path led away from their feet providing them with countless options. Angel wore his trademark tightlipped smile of satisfaction as he could practically smell her surprise and appreciation.

"This is amazing." Was it? Next to her it looked like a cheap city park. Their chosen path led them around and across a few wooden foot bridges over small bubbling creeks.

"It's magic. Everything real, but everything not."

"It's still beautiful." She doesn't care. She's walking in the sunlight with a man who truly does understand her. Finally they come to a larger open area and Angel touches her arm lightly to turn her toward him. The first time they've touched since she's arrived and it sparks warm chills down her back.

"Buffy, I..." She's turned more fully opposite him and is now only inches away. Her scent is strong here, enhanced by their short walk and her exuberance. The words catch in his throat and shortly he discovers that not only are the words meaningless, but she still tastes the same as she used to when he deserved her.


	3. Wrong but oh so right

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers but especially the insightful Passionate Darkness. You are right, I do want you to be just a little confused. This chapter seems like it clears that out but next chapter adds a little more to the mix. Hope you enjoy and any comments are always welcome. By the way; I still own nothing.

Wrong but oh so right.

This is wrong. The words are whispered in the back of her mind at first but she ignores them, brushes them off like sweater lint, and lets them fall back into the darkness that is her shut down mind. This is wrong. Louder, more insistent this time, but to her the words are still equally pointless. She is loved. He does want her. And he still tastes that same exotic mix of chocolate and blood. This is wrong and you're going to set free a killer just to make your own stupid self worth issues go away. 'Go away' she tells the inner voice but this time the words have seeded and taken root. Gradually they force their reason through her psyche and their next attack succeeds in taking control of her voice.

"This is wrong." Oh the hurt in those eyes. But there was something else there too; what was it? Acceptance? Did he know she was going to pull back? Or had be been about to pull back himself?

"I know." Oh. He knew. The same old story; forbidden love, never to be fulfilled. Why had she even come here? She covered her mouth with one hand and put a little space between them. He watched her retreat from him and his heart fell. This is the reason he had fought for so long. She was why he had taken on this place here fighting for the greater good. Not because he thought they could ever really be together. Because as long as he was here, no matter how much it hurt, the ones he took down couldn't go after her. Time for that later. Time for stopping her from leaving was now.

"I don't even know why I came here."

"I do." At least he had her attention again and she'd stopped backing away. Even though it was only a few feet, and in this park that was nothing, it felt like he was looking across an echoing chasm into her eyes.

"You do?" All traces of the happy, smiling, blond girl she had once been were gone and the woman standing before him needed every bit of reason and logic he had in stock.

"I want you to be here, Buffy. We both miss him and we both knew a different side of him than most. The stuff between us; it can wait. He's gone, but his idea is still all around us." Philosophy from the undead souled creature before her. Should she be afraid? Still, his words made sense and let her think about other words shared with her friends before she'd left. She felt an echo of fear try to work its way up her spine but she firmly shushed it and pushed it back down where it belonged. She still forgot sometimes how well he really understood her.

"Okay. So what happens next?"

"If there's one thing I've learned in two hundred plus years it's that there's always another day tomorrow. Apocalypse pending, of course."

"Of course. What time is it anyway, it feels like the middle of the night."

"Time change; it probably is the middle of the night for you."

"Oh. That could do it. I don't suppose you've got a bed somewhere for a girl like me?"

"Not a problem." With a companionable gesture she falls into step at his side and he finds himself performing the small talk as he would with any other powerful client. This is Buffy, he tells himself; she's bigger than the small talk. Still, it feels better with the sound of his smoothly rambling voice moving through the pleasantries instead of letting the silence fill all the potential gaps. They moved together back to his office where Harmony had already placed a set of hotel keys on his desk. He moved to pick them up but stopped as Buffy stepped closer to him, her hand inches from his arm.

"Do you have somewhere... closer? To you?" His hand slowly moves back to his side and he turns to face her more fully. His eyes quest for the meaning behind hers and he curses his mind for tempting him. She needs to feel protected. She needs to feel loved. Just as long as she doesn't need to feel _loved_.

"Sure." He leads her down the elevator back to the parking garage and she realizes she's left her helmet in his office. Had she forgotten or had she meant to do it so she had an excuse to spend time with him? She does grab the bag off the back of her bike, undoing the leather straps and shiny leather buckles before slinging it over her shoulder. Without a word said she climbs into the passenger seat beside him and they move out onto the road. Time for her to puzzle out why she does things later. The ride is smooth but she pays no attention to it at all. She seems to be. Her eyes follow random sights and lights but her mind processes none of them. It's too busy trying to figure out why she's here. This is wrong, it keeps telling her. But if this is wrong then why does it feel so right?

"We're here." She looks up at the name in front of his building and they pull into the parking garage. She sees why he would like it here, she reflects after he opens the door for her; covered parking plus all of this? Where's the bad? She realized she'd focused on the apartment so she wouldn't stare at him but she still knew where he was; where he had been since opening the door for her and letting her walk into the room. The light was still off and he took his eyes off her to flip the switch near the door. He closes the door behind him and silently shows her the rest of the rooms. When they reach the kitchen she takes the step to reach the refrigerator door handle and at a nod from him she pulls it open. Soft drinks and bottled juice sit beside the bags of blood bringing a slight smile to her face.

"I'll take the couch, my rooms through there." Putting him between her and the door. For a second she fights the urge to bolt before realizing he's doing it to protect her, not to block her in. Her half sigh gets let out without notice and she nods silently as she carries her bag into the large bedroom. The bag is set on the bed and she stands with her hand on it trying to figure out what it is that feels so strange. This shouldn't be anything new to her. She's done the cross country road trip thing. I mean, she'd flown into New York and ridden the whole way here. Throwing this bag on beds that weren't hers and packing everything back into it before she left had become commonplace, hadn't it? So why did this time she not want to open the bag?

"Everything alright?"

"Fine." She snatches her hand off the top of the treated leather and slides it into her back pocket as she turns to face him. That was a practiced move, he thinks. One that puts her hand closer to the stake she's no doubt got back there while making any man's eyes follow everything else but her hand. He blinks as he forces his own eyes to land back on her face and watches her replace her fake relaxed pose with a real one.

"Towels are on the bar and I can go get anything else you need if you don't like my stuff. Hungry?"

"Starving." He smiles and leaves the room again, one hand already going for his cell phone. He may not order pizza very often, in fact having information connect him is faster than hunting for the number in a phone book; but he doesn't have to ask her what she wants on it. How many nights had the two of them spent in his apartment, or even his mansion, watching movies and cuddling before she tried to leave him behind and patrol? How many nights had he let her patrol alone? Not as many as she thought, but still a number that was by his standards far too high. And then after he left... How was he supposed to know all the things his leaving would have caused? He had done it for a good reason.

The sound of the water being turned on behind him made him glance in that direction before his mind caught up to his guest's presence. Well, she hadn't asked for anything. But with Buffy that didn't necessarily mean she didn't need anything. As self sufficient as that girl was, there were still some things she couldn't ask for. Was one of them shampoo? I guess he'd find out in a few minutes. Without thought his hands moved to fix himself a mug of blood, not remembering that he'd left one sitting on his desk, leaving his mind free to wander down its own inner roads. He eased into a chair in his living room and let his eyes float to the window. After all these years; after the fighting, the blood shed, the power play that'd cost him his shan-shu, Spike getting and then losing his, all the tears, all the heartache; she was here. But what now? She was here seeking comfort after getting his phone call. That was all, right? He knew why she was here, but what did that mean for them? Had he been pushed that step back into that 'good friend I can call sometimes but not sleep with' category?

The knock on his door surprised him so much he'd sprung to his feet and it was a sheepish man who opened the door and paid for the pizza. What the hell; he threw in an extra tip for the chance ass kicking almost received. The pizza had barely touched the counter top when the sound of water was shut off and Angel resisted the urge to smile. Buffy always did seem to know when dinner was ready. He poured a soft drink over some ice and set it next to the box before resettling himself into his seat. Should he try to find some kind of TV movie to fill what was sure to be some kind of awkward silence? She'd be eating and he'd sit there sipping his blood and maybe she'd take it as a sign he didn't want her there. The door to his bedroom opened and any question about her not wanting to ask for shampoo flew out the window leaving behind the old scent he still remembered. Vanilla with a light touch of flowers filled his nostrils and he breathed deep air he didn't need attempting to lock it inside him forever. If she left tomorrow that scent would still keep part of her here.

"Oh. Food." He listened as she pulled apart a paper plate from the stack he'd left next to the box and then assembled her selected pieces on it before crossing into his field of vision. She settled gracefully onto the couch at his right, hips moving first and her back stayed straight until her sweat pants slid across the leather of the couch. She pulled both bare feet up and tucked them under cross legged before she leaned far enough forward to set her drink onto the glass of the sparsely decorated coffee table and her plate got perched just above her crossed shins. Angel watched in seeming slow motion as the first bite was smelled, savored, and enjoyed before it even crossed her lips. Her teeth moved down and through the warm crust and melted cheese daintily without marring her pristine cheek.

"What?" She spoke through her mouthful so it came out slightly muffled. Angel blinked and took a slightly longer sip than usual so his answer would sound somewhat more plausible.

"Just remembering the first time I smelled that." She froze looking at him in a weird way. Was that too weird? Or did it just remind her about something Spike said? No way for him to know so he just sat there self consciously. She swallowed and took another bite absentmindedly, drawn off on some mental tangent. He waited patiently for her to look at him again before feeling it was safe to relive that story.

"I was looking for you. It was dark and I saw you walk by the alley I had just come down. I was going to stop you then but that smell stopped me in my tracks."

"My shampoo stopped you in your tracks?"

"Yeah. No. I mean, it wasn't your shampoo. I think that just compliments your scent. I was stopped because you smelled like power. Like a predator. I was a vampire suddenly set off his game because you smelled like a predator." She looked at him with a quirked up eyebrow as she took another bite. He smiled as he delivered the last part of that story. "I liked it."

'Every Slayer's got a death wish, luv.' She blinks to clear that voice from her head. The voice she's been hearing a lot of lately. His voice; Spike's. The fact that Angel knew she could have killed him and still followed her down that alley oh so long ago, did that make them more alike or less? She took another bite to give her time to think, leaving his admission unacknowledged.

For his part, Angel also felt like there was more to say, he just wasn't sure how to say it. Let alone what it was. Something was separating the two. No matter how well he still knew her, or could figure her out, it was like something was standing in the way. He knew she and Spike had been close and he knew losing him had changed her. He just didn't know how much.

"Thanks. For the pizza." He looked at her now empty plate and watched her pull her feet from beneath her.

"There's more. Help yourself."

"No thanks. I'm gonna get to bed." He left his mug on the table and started getting the things together that would turn the couch into something resembling a bed. It didn't take him very long but when he turned back to the bedroom door she did look to his eyes like she was even more tired than she'd been just a minute before.

"If there's something else you need just let me know. You have a good night."

"Thanks for letting me stay here. Goodnight, Angel." She had been standing, leaning really, against the door jam of the bedroom while he had his back to the wall. As she spoke his name she moved forward to wrap her arms around him, pressing her body close. His hands know where to go and he remarks again to himself the changes in her body from the sixteen year old girl he knew.

"Good night." She kisses his cheek as she pulls gently away and he lets her step away from him. Another step and she softly closes the door behind her. He waits until he sees the light under the door go out before moving silently back to the living room. Shunning the couch, for now, his thought is just to sit in the darkness, finish his blood, and wait until he's sure she's asleep.


End file.
